


That Little Souvenir of a Terrible Year

by auntieomega



Series: Is It Really So Strange? [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types
Genre: 1990s, Anal Sex, Blue Balls, Cuddling & Snuggling, Daddy Issues, Friendship, Gay Bruce Banner, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Male Slash, Outdoor Sex, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, Past Murder, Past Sexual Abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Gamma Radiation Hulk, Pre-Iron Man 1, Protective Tony Stark, Questioning Tony Stark, Rimming, Sad Bruce Banner, Topping from the Bottom, breath play, slight dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 16:53:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4529700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auntieomega/pseuds/auntieomega
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony helps Bruce put his past to rest and discovers his friend has a strange secret.</p><p>***This is an updated version of a story I posted on my old AO3 account in 2014.  I’ve edited it to flow better with the series, added a bit of sex, and changed the rating.  The original version was actually the inspiration for <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3994123/chapters/8969119">“Mistakes That You Do Mean</a>.”</p><p>**The title comes from a line in the song "Here's Where the Story Ends" by The Sundays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Little Souvenir of a Terrible Year

**Author's Note:**

> *This story takes place after ["Mistakes That You Do Mean,"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3994123/chapters/8969119%22) during the nine year gap between Chapters 9 and 10 of ["Someone Else, Someone Good."](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3881755/chapters/8677753%22)
> 
> *Many Thanks to KlaatuDuLak for beta reading and to the_casual_cheesecake for suggestions and to everyone who has been so supportive.

_Friday, June 8, 1990_  
_Tony is 21; Bruce is 22_

“Hello?” Tony extended the antenna of his portable phone and walked out onto the balcony. As he surveyed the shimmering New York City skyline, the static on the other end persisted. He could hear unsteady breathing. “Bruce?” He wasn’t sure why he had said that exactly. It just felt right. Over the past couple of months, his friend had been calling him more than usual. In April, Ohio’s state mental hospital had released Brian Banner, Bruce’s abusive father. While Bruce took a break from Caltech to study bioengineering at Penn State, he was letting the son of a bitch live with him—even after Tony offered to stick the douchebag in a home for old assholes somewhere.

“Yeah.” The voice sounded far away and small—so small.

“You okay?”

A pause. “I fucked up. Tony—” His voice strangled. “I really fucked up.”

“Don’t get your wings bent out of shape, Tinkerbell. It can’t be that bad.” Tony smiled to himself. Bruce had been on some militant gay kick for a while now. This was a little politically incorrect bait for him to jump at—something to take his mind off his woes.

A small, whimpery sound was the only reply.

“Bruce? What the fuck’s going on?”

Bruce cleared his throat. “It’s okay. I just needed to hear your voice. I just—”

“Bruce?”

“I love you. I love you, and I needed you to know that—”

“Goddamnit, Bruce—”

“Whatever happens, I—”

“WHAT HAPPENED?!”

“Not over the phone,” he whispered.

“Where are you?”

Bruce hesitated. “Dayton, Ohio.”

“What the fuck are you doing there? That’s at least seven hours from your fucking house.”

After an intermission of static, Bruce said, “I’m sorry. You can’t save me. You don’t need this stress.”

“Why did you call?”

Another long pause. And then something that sounded like—

“Dude, are you crying?”

“No,” said Bruce, fucking crying.

Tony rolled his eyes. Fucktard. “Fine. I’m heading to my jet now. Meet me at Dayton International.”

***

Tony had his wheels up in less than twenty minutes after talking to Bruce. His blood hummed with a sense of urgency. As moonlit clouds caressed the jet’s sleek body, flashes of the last time Tony had seen Bruce filled his mind. Tony’s coke addiction had caught up with him last Thanksgiving, much to the horror and shame of his parents. After a few brief stays in the world’s most expensive rehab resorts, he relapsed  
again—just in time to greet the new decade as a failure.

But this time, only Bruce knew.

Bruce dropped everything to take care of him. They withdrew to the Starks’ secluded canyon house. There, Bruce nursed Tony through the difficult withdrawal—sometimes just curling up with him on the floor and holding him. They spent over two months in the snug nine bedroom home nestled in Silverado Canyon. Bruce tailored a rehabilitation program to him—a unique program that featured unconventional therapies like spirulina smoothies and pot. He included Tony in the research, allowed him to participate in the program’s design as if it were a shared project. He gave Tony back his sense of control.

While, ultimately, Tony had conquered his addiction—Bruce had been with him every step of the way. The struggle had strengthened the unique bond they shared and rekindled Tony’s confused feelings for Bruce. He knew Bruce loved him. And he loved Bruce. But Bruce believed Tony would hurt him if they were together, so Tony had done the noble thing—he fucked the first piece of ass (or pieces, technically—it had been a threesome) that came along to show Bruce that he could give him his space. Tony had just taken care of it. That’s what a Stark did. He took care of business.

But Tony still loved Bruce in a way that felt strange and complicated. It was irrational. But wasn’t love always irrational?

They called themselves brothers. They called themselves friends. They were more than that. They had always been more. The world didn’t make labels for what they were to each other. The world was a drooling idiot. What the fuck did the world know?

All Tony knew for certain was that Bruce was in trouble. And Tony was about to make trouble for what-the-fuck-ever that something was.

***

Tony meant to upbraid Bruce when he saw him, but Bruce looked so terrible, he held back. Tony knew Bruce was a tough little shit, but this guy was his ghost. Bruce’s face was pale and drawn; he looked sick and tense. Tony wondered when he had last slept. Fuck. Bruce had been sleeping under the same roof with the man who had murdered his mother and tortured him as a child—he probably hadn’t slept much at all.

Tony got a suite in a hotel near the airport. While Bruce sat stiffly on the couch, Tony grabbed a handful of liquor from the minifridge. He downed a couple of little bottles and threw a few at Bruce. Bruce copied him wordlessly. Tony stripped to his red Versace briefs with their iconic greek key waistband. For the first time since Tony had touched down, a glimmer of something other than dread shone in Bruce’s eyes.

Bruce undressed. Tony, showing remarkable restraint, didn’t comment on the scientist’s shiny purple bikini underwear. Purple with tiger stripes. Tony deserved a fucking medal.

They slid beneath the blankets. They often snuggled when they met up like this. They had done so since meeting as teens. Although Bruce was gay—and they fucked sometimes—these secret cuddles were platonic. Bruce had come up with some tortured rationale that they were therapeutic, but Tony had given up on trying to explain why they did this. They liked it. They did it because they fucking liked it.

Usually, they started with spooning, but this time, Bruce wrapped his arms around Tony’s neck and buried his face. He didn’t cry. He just shivered, his breaths steaming against Tony’s chest. Tony rubbed Bruce’s back. “Tell me what happened.”

“I killed him.” Bruce swallowed. “I killed my father.”

Tony pulled away to look Bruce in the eyes. “How?”

“I—I don’t know exactly. We’ve been at each other’s throats for weeks—”

“Why were you letting that rat-bastard live with you in the first place?!”

Bruce stared at him for a heartbeat. “I thought…maybe he was just sick before. Maybe he’d changed.” He looked down, facing Tony’s chest. “They said he was better. I wanted to believe that. I—I believe people deserve second chances. And, I don’t know, I guess I hoped it was all some kind of mistake.”

Tony laughed and ruffled Bruce’s hair. “You’re such a fucking moron.”

Bruce gave him a wounded look. “I don’t know why I tell you anything.”

Tony scratched Bruce’s head gently. “Don’t be a pussy. Tell me what happened. What are you doing in Dayton?”

“I grew up in Dayton. I drove here to visit Mom’s grave—I went alone. He must have followed me. He attacked me.” Bruce drew a sharp breath. “It gets fuzzy after that because of Hulk—”

“Who’s Hulk?” Tony pictured a big-armed biker queer wearing little more than a leather vest and a spiked pouch.

“Me. In a way.”

“Are you tripping?”

“No.” Bruce smiled slightly. “I have—I’ve been seeing a therapist. Having my father around…I just—I needed to see someone.”

Tony massaged Bruce’s shoulder. “It’s okay, man. I always knew you were a little cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. All that weird shit you listen to, your fucked up taste in underwear….”

“I have dissociative identity disorder. It’s sort of like having split personalities. Like—”

“Like that Bates guy in Psycho? Do you think you’re your mom?” He sat up a little with excitement. “Did you off your dad as your mom?!”

Bruce scowled at him. “No, asshole. This isn’t funny. And it’s not like that. Hulk came from my closet.”

Tony stared at him with strained sobriety. “Your gay closet?”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “No. How would that make any sense?” His righteousness faded quickly, meekness taking its place. “From my bedroom closet when I was little.” He looked at Tony expectantly.

Tony didn’t know what the fuck to say. Bruce continued. “He was a monster in the closet. I mean, of course, I made him up, but—he seems real. He is real.”

Tony struggled to stay silent. He wanted to hear what Bruce had to say, but he also didn’t. This was so much worse than he had thought.

Bruce shut his eyes, frowning. “One night—I think I must have been four—my father was whipping me with a belt. I didn’t cry, and it pissed him off, so he started punching me. He’d hurt me before, but that was the first time he ever hit me. I think I started crying somewhere around the fourth punch, but whether I cried or not didn’t matter anymore. He just kept hitting me. Everywhere. When I’d fall, he’d pull me up to punch me again. It went on and on. I threw up a few times. I lost consciousness. But when I’d recover, he’d haul me up by my arm and—”

Tony pulled Bruce’s shaking body against him and held him close.

“At some point, I saw one of the monsters that lived in my closet—that I believed lived in my closet. I asked him to help me…and he took my place. He took all of the beatings after that. Most of the ones in school too.” Bruce’s heart hammered next to Tony’s. “When I’m angry or scared…there’s Hulk.”

“So, Hulk killed your father.”

“Yes.” Bruce sounded relieved. “Brian attacked me and knocked me down, so Hulk kicked him. Brian must have hit his head on a gravestone. When I came back to myself, I realized Brian was dead.”

“You took out the garbage, so what? This sounds like self-defense. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

“He was a middle-aged mental patient. I’m not a little boy anymore. I’m a grown man. I’m supposed to be one of the world’s smartest people.” He snorted in disgust. “I should have been able to subdue him without killing him. I just…lost myself. No one’s going to understand that.”

Tony pressed his lips against Bruce’s forehead. “Okay. I’ll have a team of lawyers here within a few hours. The best I can buy. I’m sure we can plead insanity—maybe they’ll have some other ideas. I can buy a judge or two if need be. Fuck, I’ll buy the governor if I have to.”

Bruce scoffed. “That’s not why I called you. I don’t want you your wasting your money on me.”

“What do you want?”

“This.” Bruce nuzzled against Tony’s neck. “I think I just wanted this.”

Tony started to say something about the ginormous size of Bruce’s twat, but instead he tilted back Bruce’s head and kissed him on the lips. Bruce squirmed in surprise. Tony continued to kiss him softly. Bruce stopped fighting and responded with passion, urging Tony’s mouth open with flickers of hungry tongue.

Tony hardened as Bruce’s cock knocked into his. They thrust against each other, kissing, rolling. Tony was on top. Bruce had taken the sheets. The draft from the air conditioner raised gooseflesh on Tony’s ass cheek as Bruce’s fingers pulled the Versace briefs down on one side.

Tony tilted his pelvis a bit to speed the operation, but Bruce teased the underwear back in place. His hand, sneaking beneath the fabric, felt warm and firm on Tony’s skin. Tony grunted and ground against Bruce’s cock. He came off of Bruce’s lips just long enough to hear the scientist whisper, “Oh. God. Fuck.”

He gave Bruce’s mouth flirty licks as he tugged at the flares of Bruce’s glans. The small, overcome sound scraping the back of Bruce’s throat made Tony’s stomach float up inside him as if he were diving in one of his jets. Tony cupped the beefy head of Bruce’s cock against his body. Precum drizzled through his fingers. His own cock, pressed into Bruce’s stomach, felt tight and full. It wanted Bruce’s lips around it.

And yet, there was a deeper, internal need. He wanted Bruce’s cock inside him. He wanted to feel it deep in his body. He wanted to be filled up with it.

He had rented a boy in Milan. Tony never had to pay for sex, but he had paid for discretion. The male prostitute had been beautiful—more handsome than Bruce by far—with copper-kissed skin that stretched tight over bulging muscles. Yet, there had been something in his dark Italian pout that had reminded Tony of Bruce, and that had been why he had chosen him.

But it hadn’t been enough. Occasionally Tony felt something strange after having sex with a woman, an odd feeling—almost of loss—as he made his escape or sent them on their merry ways. He assumed it was simply the dip in mood one experiences after opening all of the presents on Christmas or closing on a huge real estate investment. Vini vidi vici….now what?

But this had been different. He hadn’t felt satisfied. The guy had been skilled; the sex had been…acceptable. Yet it had left him lonely in a way he had never felt before. He didn’t want ‘some guy.’ If he was going to be with a guy, he wanted Bruce.

Feasting on each other’s mouths, they writhed and wrestled until they were sideways on the bed with Bruce on top. Tony grabbed a handful of Bruce’s hair. Bruce moaned with yearning, then pushed himself away. Tony yanked him back down by his cock.

Bruce panted close to Tony’s face. “Coyote.”

“Spiny echidna.” Tony cranked Bruce’s precum-slick cock.

Bruce pulled away. “What?”

“I thought we were naming random animals.”

Flustered, Bruce blinked at Tony. “Ummm. No.”

Tony scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “The safe word I used at the canyon.”

“Right. I thought we weren’t doing this anymore.”

“That seemed okay.”

Bruce frowned at him. “It’s not okay.” He sat up. “We don’t have sex. We have platonic cuddling.”

“You seemed like you needed something else.”

“No.” Bruce huddled the sheet around him like some fucking virgin. He looked at Tony askance. “Did you?”

Tony shrugged. “I don’t need anything.”

Bruce looked down, his lashes hiding his eyes. “Yeah.” He drew the sheet over his shoulder. “Of course.”

 _Except you._ But he couldn’t say it. It sat in the back of his throat and wouldn’t budge.

Bruce met his gaze with a slight wince. “This is the only thing in my life that isn’t screwed up. Can we try to keep it that way?”

Tony, propped on an elbow, thought of several snarky comebacks. He only nodded. Bruce stared at him with those sad eyes that had spawned Tony’s first nickname for him, Benji. They were the eyes of a stray. Tony wanted to touch him, wanted to resume their snuggling, but he waited for Bruce to come to him.

“I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have bothered you with all of this,” Bruce said softly. “I just wanted to feel normal for a few minutes before everything falls apart.” He looked like he was about to cry, so Tony stopped waiting.

Tony swung an arm around Bruce’s neck and pulled him down. Bruce pressed the side of his face against Tony’s chest and folded around him. He sighed the way a lost child sighs when returned to its mother’s arms. The sound made Tony’s chest ache. He buried his nose in Bruce’s brown curls and shut his burning eyes. They stayed for a while in silence, wrapped around each other.

Presently, Bruce shifted his hips and gave a small, pained groan. “You’re the one who wanted to stop,” Tony reminded him. Tony waited for Bruce to reply. When he didn’t, Tony rolled the knuckles of one hand against Bruce’s tummy and enjoyed the scientist’s soft moan of appreciation.

Bruce glanced at Tony suddenly. “Are _you_ okay?”

“I’m okay. I didn’t get as excited as you did, Mr. Sticky.” That should have been funny, but Bruce didn’t laugh. Tony kneaded beneath Bruce’s naval gently, then rubbed him with an open palm. Bruce breathed a soft ‘thanks’ against Tony’s shoulder. Tony nuzzled his ear. He reached his other hand down to cup Bruce’s aching balls gently. Bruce cringed at first, then gave a deep sigh.

Tony would have rather made Bruce’s blue balls better by fucking, but this was sort of nice. He knew Bruce liked taking care of him, but Tony kind of enjoyed taking care of Bruce too. He rolled Bruce’s heavy, cum-laden balls with delicate movements while Bruce’s warm lips pressed against his skin.

After a time, Bruce said, “The anniversary was today.” The words brushed Tony’s nipple as warm breaths. “June 8, 1978. He killed her. We were trying to escape, and he killed her. And now I’ve killed him. What does that make me?”

“A fucking hero.” Tony held Bruce against him.

“Heroes don’t have bodies in the trunks of their cars.”

Tony’s muscles stiffened. “He’s in the trunk of your car?”

Bruce swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Fuck!” Tony flipped Bruce off of him and sat up.

Bruce joined him. “I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t think. I didn’t want to leave him there….”

“Fuck!”

“I’ll go to the police in a little while. I’ll turn myself in.” Bruce smoothed a hand across Tony’s chest, gently pressing him down. “Can we—just a little longer—please?”

Tony sprang from the bed, mind swirling, chest tight. He paced the room. Bruce, hugging the blankets and looking dejected, watched him. Tony couldn’t bother with him at the moment. Bruce wasn’t thinking. His emotions had clearly overwhelmed his intellect. Tony paced.

He rounded on Bruce. “We’ll use C4. We’ll mummify his body with C4, fly over the Atlantic Ocean, dump him, and blast him before he hits the water. If there’s anything left, the fish will eat it.”

Bruce stared at him.

“That was Plan A. Plan B is we go all _Weekend at Bernie’s_ on the motherfucker—dress his corpse in funny hats and take him water skiing.”

Bruce stared at him.

“Benji, this is the part where you say, ‘Tony, you’re so awesome! Every stupid gaywad should have a friend like you!’ and then you look at me adoringly for a while. Oh, and you laugh at my joke, because I’m not just awesome, I’m also funny.”

Bruce stared at him.

Tony snapped his fingers in front of Bruce’s face. “Earth to dork.”

“You can’t do this,” said Bruce. “I can’t let you do this.”

“Try stopping me.” He pulled on his clothes.

“Tony—”

“Get dressed. I have everything we need. We’re doing this.” He threw Bruce’s clothes at him.

“I can’t ask you—”

“You didn’t.” He locked his eyes on Bruce’s. “This asshole fucked up my best friend in ways I can’t even understand. I’m going to turn him into chum. You can either come with me or stay here. Either way, I need your keys.”

Bruce didn’t move. His eyes began to water.

“Name the mission.”

Bruce heaved a breath. “Here’s Where the Story Ends.”

“The Sundays? Are you fucking kidding me?” But it had worked. Bruce was in motion, slipping on his shirt. Mission Here’s Where the Story Ends, which, besides being named after a chicky-ass song, had way too many fucking words for a good mission title—was underway.

***

Tony stood in the dimly-lit parking lot staring at the back of Bruce’s car. The fuel-efficient little hatchback looked gray in the amber wash of the sodium vapor lamps, but Tony knew it was a bright leaf green—a custom color he had selected himself when he bought it for Bruce. It was a cheap car—he knew Bruce wouldn’t have accepted the gift if had been too expensive—but it was a decent machine. A cute compact as reliable and gay as his best friend. And now it had some dead old fart inside it. He stroked around its taillight apologetically. “I had no idea he would do this to you. I swear.”

Bruce stood beside him and didn’t say anything. He just stared at the wide back window of tinted glass.

“So,” said Tony, “he’s just…loose inside there?”

Bruce startled awake. “No. No, I had a tarp I use for camping and some duct tape for making protest signs….” A small shiver ran through him. “Oh god,” he whispered. “Oh god….”

Tony’s gaze fell to the car’s bumper sticker. _Hate is not a family value._

“Who am I?” Bruce said in a small, choking voice. “Who the fuck am I?”

“Some dumb nerd I let hang out with me.” Tony swiped the keys from him. “Cool guys drive, dorkus. You’re shotgun.” But Bruce looked lost. Tony tugged Bruce’s dick. Bruce blinked at him in surprise. He hardened as if activated by a switch.

Tony had only meant to shock Bruce into action, but he couldn’t remove his hand. He couldn’t stop himself from rubbing the hard rod still growing in Bruce’s jeans. His own cock swelled eagerly.

And then he found himself thrown against the hatchback’s wide rear window with Bruce pressed against him. Bruce’s tongue in his mouth. Bruce’s hands all over him. The jasmine and green tea scent of Bruce’s hair in his nose, in his chest.

He grabbed the back of Bruce’s head, laced his fingers through Bruce’s thick curls and pulled. Bruce’s breath hissed through his teeth. He ground his cock against Tony’s and gnawed the side of his neck, groping hungrily behind his ear. Tony slid his hands down Bruce’s taut body, enjoying the way it snapped and quaked with need beneath his touch.

For a moment, Tony could only revel in the heat of their mutual desire.

And then he remembered the dead man beneath his ass.

…and then he unbuttoned Bruce’s jeans. “Fast,” he whispered in Bruce’s ear. He had his own jeans down in a matter of seconds. Their naked cocks collided and for the barest instant, Tony thought he might come just from that. He backed up the window, the skin of his forearms squeaking against the glass, and planted his feet, wide, on the bumper. “Fast,” he repeated.

Bruce stared at him like a question mark sporting wood.

Tony couldn’t help smiling a little archly. “And hard.” He spit in his hand and wiped it over his own hole. Bruce added a smear of his precum. Tony tilted his pelvis up. He wanted to fuck face to face. He wanted to watch Bruce fuck him. He wanted to…be a good lookout, that’s all.

Bruce jerked Tony’s cock a few times, then plowed inside him. Tony gasped. Bruce froze. He licked his palm and swaddled Tony’s glans in his hand. His eyes searched Tony’s. They were pitch black in the dim light.

“I didn’t say stop.”

Bruce pulled out then plunged deep. Tony gritted his teeth. That dumbfuck worrywart expression on Bruce’s face wasn’t helping matters. Grabbing a fistful of Bruce’s shirt and chest hair, Tony pulled him close and swabbed his tongue over Bruce’s lower lip. “Fuck. Me. Fuck me raw, you big pussy,” Tony whispered.

With a horse-like snort, Bruce commenced pounding Tony’s hole. The car bounced and squeaked. The pain blurred with each rough thrust. Tony pushed into Bruce’s pelvis, taking him root-deep. Like a freed beast, Bruce drove in all the way each time after that. He pumped madly, the car’s struts providing a soundtrack to their passion.

Tony caught one of Bruce’s hands and pulled it to his throat. Bruce stopped and stared at him. “Do it,” said Tony. Bruce’s hand closed around Tony’s throat. He fucked him harder.

In a roaring rush of starry madness, it was over. Tony came before Bruce did, splurting cum on Bruce’s tee shirt. His body tried to cum more as Bruce came inside him. It lurched and shivered. Tony sighed with pure happiness. He hung his arms on Bruce’s shoulders and smiled at him blearily.

Bruce wrapped his arms around him. He hung his head and pressed his face against Tony’s. Tony breathed deeply, enjoying their closeness, basking in that life-affirming heat radiating from their bodies. Everything was good. Everything was so fucking good.

Tony felt a dampness against his cheek. He withdrew slightly. Bruce remained still, his head bowed, as Tony stroked the tears from his face. Horribly, Bruce smashed his wet face into Tony’s neck and began heaving against him in silent spasms of grief.

Tony pushed Bruce back, holding him by the shoulders, and gave him a slight shake. That didn’t help. He just stood there with his pants around his ankles, weeping. Tony took Bruce’s jaw in both hands. “Hey. Look at me.”

Bruce obeyed, but tears continued to stream down his face. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I know. You were supposed to get your mojo back.”

Tears rolled down Bruce’s cheeks and wet Tony’s fingers. Tony knew Bruce had meant they shouldn’t have fucked, but Bruce apologized nonetheless. “Sorry.”

“Stop crying, bro. You look real ugly when you cry.” He gave Bruce’s head a small shake. Bruce sniffled and chuckled simultaneously, producing a cute sputter. Tony pressed his forehead against Bruce’s, then snuck a small kiss. “C’mon. We need to roll.”

***

_Saturday, June 9, 1990_

The B-1 bomber flew through a world of gray. Gray dawn sky. Dark gray ocean. Tony glanced at Bruce. Bruce always looked a bit pasty when they flew, but his skin this time was tinged with gray; shadows lay beneath his eyes.

“Are you ready for this?” Tony asked him. Bruce nodded. Tony grinned. “Bombs away!” He dropped the strange payload over the dark water. “Today,” said Tony gravely, “we bid farewell to Brian Banner. Nuclear physicist, alcoholic, wife-beater, child-abuser, murderer and all-around douchy-cunt fucker. May the devil make you blow him while he takes a shit in your ass.”

That might have meant more if either of them believed in the devil. But Bruce must have appreciated it; he snickered into his fist. “Now,” said Tony. He reached over the B-1 bomber’s console to hold Bruce’s knee. Not for moral support, of course. Just to make sure Bruce didn’t fuck this all up.

“Now,” said Bruce. They watched the camera feed on the little screen. An explosion. A scarlet rain falling into the waves.

“It’s over,” said Tony.

“It’ll never be over,” said Bruce in a quiet voice.

Tony wanted to hold him and hated that the bomber’s design wouldn’t allow that. “Do you wanna go fuck around the East Village?"

Bruce blinked at him. “What?”

Tony shrugged. “Just thinking of things to do while we cook up your alibi.”

“I don’t think I’m up to doing much,” said Bruce. “I feel queasy and exhausted.”

“I know—let’s go to my place in Nantucket. It’s quiet. We’ll brainstorm, then power nap.”

“Napping sounds good.”

“Yeah, and that’s a great house. You’ll sleep like crazy.”

Bruce snorted. “The only time I sleep well without medication is with you.”

Tony’s heart broke a little. “Right.” He stabbed down on an invisible woman repeatedly. “’Cuz you’re psycho. Eeenk eeenk eeenk eeenk.”

Bruce laughed softly.

“Hey, my hand’s cramping.” He shoved it at Bruce. Bruce took it with both hands and massaged up the palm with his thumbs. Tony closed his fist, trapping one of Bruce’s hands. He gripped it tightly. Bruce cradled his other hand around Tony’s. They said nothing.

The gray sky blushed. Gold edged the clouds and tipped the waves as morning reclaimed the pale world. Tony continued to fly the plane one-handed. He glanced at Bruce, but Bruce was staring out the glass. The drone of the bomber’s engines surrounded them as they flew above the clouds into the full glory of the morning light.

***

Tony, spooning Bruce, played absently with the hair on the scientist’s chest. They had the windows open, and lazy, salt-scented gusts danced the white sheers around in the sunlight. As Bruce’s breaths evened, Tony let his hand follow the fuzzy path to Bruce’s stomach. He flattened his hand against it and waited. He sort of loved this part…right…there. Bruce’s tripwire-taut body yielded to sleep, and his stomach softened against Tony’s hand. This was trust.

Tony planted a light kiss on the back of Bruce’s neck. Bruce breathed gently. He was always so tense. But when they were together, like this, Bruce let himself be vulnerable. This was love.

Wanting to experience it again, Tony tickled Bruce awake. Bruce thrashed a little before glaring around at Tony. “Fuck! Why do you do that?”

Tony shrugged. “It’s not my fault you’re so ticklish.”

Bruce turned toward him with a wry smile. “I evolved that way for your amusement.”

“You-oooo ah.” Tony’s witty rejoinder took a hike as Bruce’s careful hand massaged around his navel. “Yeah, there. And down…right…” Bruce didn’t need directions; he was fucking psychic. Tony felt like purring. “Fuck, that’s nice, bro.”

Bruce could never take a compliment. He looked like someone had stepped on his dick. “I didn’t realize you were so sore. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep without checking on you.”

“Yeah, well…that’s why I woke your ass up.” It wasn’t, of course, but what the fuck. He closed his eyes and let himself enjoy Bruce’s touch. “You’re too good at this. Always gotta top, huh? I’m calling your bullshit, Bruce. You’ve been a bottom before.”

After a silence long enough to force Tony’s eyes open, Bruce said awkwardly, “Not consensually. Not since I was a ki—”

Tony grabbed Bruce’s head between his hands and shut his mouth with a quick, hard kiss. He rubbed the back of Bruce’s skull, keeping him pressed close. “TMI, dude. Way TMI.” He closed his eyes and mashed Bruce’s face against him. “Fuck me for flirting.”

“Sorry.”

He kneaded Bruce’s head, gently pulling his curls at their roots. “Nah, man. We’re good.” He heaved a breath. “Hey, I didn’t forget—I just didn’t know how—you know—I mean, we never discussed the details—”

Then it was Bruce who held _him_. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s okay.”

“Okay.” Tony lay back with a sigh. Bruce snuggled against him. Tony took Bruce’s hand and placed it back on his tummy. “You don’t have to stop doing that.”

With a happy snort, Bruce resumed rubbing him.

Tony watched the curtains for a while. He looked over at Bruce. “How old were you?”

Bruce’s lashes shielded his eyes. “Eight when it started—after my mom died; nine when they took him away.”

“After your mom—what a fucking asshole.” He gave Bruce a squeeze. “Dude, you should talk about this. Really talk. But not to me, okay? I can’t. I want to but—”

“It’s okay, Tony.” He pushed up with a frown. “Fuck. You’re probably sore elsewhere.”

As Bruce slid down Tony’s body, grazing his skin with short nails, Tony hiked up a leg to make it easier for Bruce to get to ‘elsewhere.’ Tony closed his eyes when Bruce’s warm tongue massaged his perineum and lapped the underside of his sack. But he couldn’t help opening them when Bruce kissed the sore edges of his hole. A soft, delicate, reverent kiss—as a penitent would kiss an icon.

Tony watched as Bruce’s tongue stroked around his rim. The scientist’s tonguing was intentioned and gentle; his rimming was as soothing as their fucking had been rough.

This kind of concern wasn’t accidental; Bruce knew what it was like to hurt, was deeply familiar with it. Tony shut his eyes and tried not to think about that. He let himself disappear into the bliss of warmth and wet, of nurturing and love.

He sighed and pulled Bruce’s head onto his stomach. “I’ll pay for you to see a therapist.”

Bruce pushed himself up. Inexplicably, his mouth crooked up at a corner. “Thanks, but I’m already seeing a therapist. She’s helping me.”

Tony relaxed. “Good.” He pulled Bruce’s head down on his chest. “You weirdo. You need all the help you can get.” He tousled Bruce’s hair when the scientist harrumphed, then combed his fingers through it, fondling each wave and curl.

Bruce stroked Tony’s chest. “I love listening to your heartbeat,” he said drowsily.

“If you’re going to say weird shit like that—”

“Sorry.” Bruce nuzzled him. “No weird shit. Promise.” Bruce lifted his head then and looked in Tony’s eyes. “Are you all right?”

Tony’s flippant remark eluded him. “Yeah. You?”

“If I let my mind wander—”

“He was a fucking asshole. You did the world a favor.”

“No—I keep thinking about my mom.” Bruce’s head fell back to Tony’s chest. “It’s been twelve years. I’ve been without her longer than I was with her, but…I miss her. I keep dreaming of her. We do banal things like shop for groceries or fold laundry.” He laughed a little, but there was nothing but sadness in it. “You should try talking to your parents again.”

“Fucking hell, Bruce—”

“They won’t be around forever.” Tony tried to sit up, but Bruce pushed him down. “Wait. Please.”

His eyes held Tony down. They glistened with unshed tears. “God, you’re a fucking asshole sometimes. Finish your stupid thought, Bruce.”

“They were emotionally distant. Okay, that sucks.”

“Thank you for belittling my pain.”

“I’m not. But listen. They didn’t hit you. They’ve never actually said they hate you, right?”

“No. They’ve never bothered to say much of anything to me.”

“Right. That’s my point.” Bruce sucked a short breath. “Maybe they really love you, but…. Sometimes people have trouble expressing their feelings. Sometimes….”

Tony stroked Bruce’s face. “Sometimes feelings are too complicated to voice.”

Bruce lay his head on Tony’s chest with a sigh. “And sometimes…we have to be satisfied with what’s there and stop trying to wish it into something that can never be. Because what’s there— it’s pretty fucking wonderful in its own right.” His voice was so soft then, so wistful—ginormous twat wistful.

“What are we talking about?”

Bruce cleared his throat. “Um. Your parents. Maybe they aren’t terrible, you know? Maybe they’re just flawed. You should try to get to know them while you still have the chance.”

Tony had stopped listening. He rubbed Bruce’s skull, wondering at the brilliant, damaged thing inside it. Shy, gentle Bruce and— “Hulk.” Saddened, he sighed. “Your abuse left you with some heavy scars.”

Remarkably, Bruce smiled. “I’ve been trying to look at Hulk as less like a scar and more like a souvenir. A reminder of past wounds rather than some malformed attempt at healing.” He hesitated. “What happened with Brian—that was an anomaly. I have Hulk under control.”

Tony massaged the back of Bruce’s neck. “And he’s invisible.”

“He isn’t real. Really….”

“He’s just a monster from the closet.” Tony grinned a little.

Bruce squeezed Tony affectionately. “You helped me get rid of the real monster.”

“We could have had so much fun with that corpse, dude. Some sunglasses, maybe a sombrero….”

Bruce, eyes closed, smirked. “And I’m the one in therapy.”

The End


End file.
